Love to Hate You
by Muffinsama
Summary: Namie couldn't help but wonder why so many people thought Izaya's smug smirk was attractive.  The look of raw hunger on his face, his mouth smeared with blood and the desire burning in his eyes was far more appealing. - Izaya/Namie


Prompt from the durarara! kinkmeme:

**Izaya/Namie - Rough/Hate Sex**

Izaya finds an annoyed/pissed off Namie kind of sexy. So being Izaya, he decides to keep pushing and pushing. Namie is just getting more and more annoyed until... "stuff happens".

* * *

><p>"That green sweater is hideous."<p>

Yagiri Namie looked up from the newspaper she had been skimming with a sigh and looked at the dark haired male with bored eyes.

"What kind of game are you playing now?" she asked neutrally, already refocusing on the article about the Libyan civil war she had been reading when her employer had felt the sudden need to express his antipathy towards her choice of clothing.

"It doesn't suit you." Orihara Izaya's voice stated, as he watched her with sharp, red brown eyes, supporting his head with one hand – something he did when he was bored – and letting a chess piece dangle between the thumb and index finger of his other hand.

"How so?" she forced herself to ask with every intention of ignoring whatever he said, something she had gotten rather good at over the time she had been working for him.

"Well, for starters, it doesn't fit together the red skirt you're wearing. It's as if you just blindly selected your outfit, without even caring if it matches or not."

It was true that such things didn't bother her. She just blindly grabbed something out of her closet every morning and wore it, never once thinking about whether it looked good or not.

"I don't want to hear that from someone who seems to be under the impression that the addition of fur makes any article of clothing fashionable." She commented monotonously, noticing in bewilderment that she had actually listened to what he was saying, instead of just letting him talk and concentrating on something else.

"I'm just telling the truth. Take Harima Mika for instance." Mentioning that girl's name was like breaking an unspoken taboo, and Izaya countered Namie's disgusted glare with a haughty grin. "She wears a very simple outfit. A plain white blouse and a red skirt is hardly something someone would wear if they intended to stand out with their clothing. Yet, in combination with the tie she ties loosely around her neck and her matching white hat, she manages to make a boring outfit much more interesting and worth looking at."

"Don't bring up that slut. She's the kind of girl who enjoys people staring _up_ her skirt." Namie decided to ignore that she was just making up stuff about the girl, who she barely knew, and felt the pressing need to brush her teeth after having to even talk about _her_, the girl who dared to steal away her beloved brother Seiji.

"Well, and apparently your brother is into 'that kind of girl', which means that if you ever want him to see you that way, you're going to have to be more like her." Izaya teased, a lazy smile spreading over his face, as he twirled a pen around his fingers with a subtle sense of grace no one else could have pulled off without looking completely gay.

"I will never, ever try to imitate that whore. Over my dead body!" She exclaimed, frowning and tossing the newspaper she has been crumpling between her fingers aside angrily.

"Well, then I guess your chances of getting Seiji to like you are slim. Unless of course you cut off your head. Maybe he'll fall in love with it. I wouldn't be surprised, considering how messed up in the head your brother –" A pen was suddenly pointed at him, as if it was some kind of sword or spear. Yagiri Namie was not Ryuugamine Mikado, though, so he wasn't particularly worried.

"Do_ not_ insult my brother. I'm warning you! Seiji is the most perfect human being on this planet!"

"You do realize that coming from you that isn't much of a compliment, considering the fact that the only contact you had with humans was when you cut them up for your sickening experiments." Izaya, barely concealing his amusement.

"Don't compare my brother to those filthy lab rats." The informant's secretary spat. Her employer stopped smiling.

"And you shouldn't put your bipolar brother above my beloved humans. They're all the same, each and every single one of them loveable. Except for Shizu-chan of course, who should just die a hopefully painful death. Preferably right in front of my eyes." That thought seemed to put Izaya in a very good mood, his red brown eyes glinting lively.

"Seiji is far better than all of those stinking pests roaming the streets. They're all disgusting, self important creatures." The fact that she cared enough to actually try to insult his humans, and therefore piss him off struck Izaya as oddly cute.

"He's the same as them in every single way. In fact, so are you, and so am I. We're all human beings, we all have our strengths, your brother for instance seems to be really good at stabbing people with pens. I heard he stabbed Shizu-chan a couple of times, which is the best thing he'll ever do in his most likely not too long life."

Namie went quiet. Very quiet. Her usually bored expression was tense, and she just stared at him with eyes that glowed furiously, as she slowly started to turn a very attractive shade of red, that made her look like she had just run a mile – or had been fucked thoroughly, which in Izaya's opinion was a much more appealing comparison.

_Ah, she's pissed. She's pissed. Only a little more, just one more little push –_

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice quivering, while her glaring eyes dared him to say another word. Izaya's just smiled anew and put on an infuriatingly innocent expression.

"Well, I'm just saying that, with the amount of trouble he gets in – with people like Shizu-chan, no less – Seiji dearest probably won't live to see 20. Believe me when I tell you that the streets out there are dangerous. And Seiji isn't nearly smart enough to be able to keep on pissing off gang members and thugs without getting himself killed."

With the sweet, encouraging smile one might have expected to see on a counselor who had just given some very helpful advice, Izaya observed the way Namie's hands twitched, fists clenching and unclenching.

She rose to her feet in less than a second and lunged at him, a shrill war cry leaving her lips when he easily dodged the slap directed towards his face and took hold of her hand.

Desperately she struggled, her still free hand punching and scratching and trying to pull at his hair, hoping to reach some part of him and sink her fingernails into his skin, but he was agile, fast and slipped away from her attacks like the slimy little eel that he was.

When she attempted to kick him in the nuts, he barely managed to catch her leg before it could connect with his groin and bring him closer to really being the young girl called Kanra, who he had created on the internet.

Her other leg immediately made a second attempt at what the first leg had failed to do, only to be grabbed as well, so that, in some awkward, uncomfortable and undoubtedly painfully strenuous way, Izaya ended up carrying the struggling, kicking woman in attack mode.

He wasn't Shizuo, so his arms began to burn immediately with the added weight, and he almost lost balance with the way she kept on moving, but he managed to get them both away from the desk and into the unfurnished middle of the room, reducing the risk of one of them cracking open their head on the corner of his desk, or one of the open drawers of the cabinets he kept his files in.

A sharp, stinging sensation on his neck startled him enough to drop his secretary and fall right on top of her, blindly holding the damp, aching spot.

"You bit me!" he exclaimed, slightly out of breath, making no move to get off of her, with his forehead pressed between two soft bumps he immediately recognized as her breasts. He snickered, only to be smacked across the back of his head by one of her hands.

Reluctantly, he removed his face from in between her boobs to look her in the face with a smile that looked far too accomplished for someone who had just been bitten and punched.

His eyes turned darker, while his smile became devious, as his expression hardened and his breathing deepened.

She looked delicious, with her eyes hazy with rage, her face flushed and her glistening lips a little parted, her warm breath hitting his jaw and tickling his skin.

And then his lips were on hers and his tongue was forcing its way into her mouth, only for her teeth to dig into the silky organ, but that didn't make him stop, as a deep, pleased hum sent vibrations through his secretary's body from where their lips were connected.

The taste of his blood made her lick back at his split tongue and suck for more, while his hands grabbed hold of her upper arms and tightened their grip almost painfully, hoping to decorate her body with bruises.

Not because he wanted her for himself, but because it would piss her off and possibly lead to another 'slip up', which was how she referred to them trying to fuck each other into a coma.

She pulled up her knee and nudged the dark material of his jeans between his legs, not hard enough to hurt, but making a point of reminding him of the danger she posed to him in that situation, earning a feral groan from him, as his fingers tightened around her arms and pressed her against the hard ground as if in punishment.

Orihara Izaya was always intrigued by danger, Namie had known that about him from the beginning, so she wasn't surprised when she could feel his arousal strain against his jeans, which was most likely painful, but then again, he had developed a weird attachment to pain that made him enjoy it to a certain degree.

The informant broke away from the kiss harshly, keeping her lower lip between his teeth and only letting go once he saw her eyebrows draw together in discomfort.

Wordlessly, they stared at each other for a moment, frowning and breathing harshly in unison, and Namie couldn't help but wonder why so many people thought Izaya's smug smirk was attractive.

The look of raw hunger on his face, his mouth smeared with blood, and the desire burning in his eyes was far more appealing.

Cursing crudely, he let go of her arms to grab the hem of her supposedly ugly sweater and pulled at it, the fabric scraping over her skin as he yanked forcefully, when she didn't raise her body and arms so he could get rid of it.

The harsh sound of the fabric beginning to tear made her reconsider, as she grudgingly raised her upper body from the ground. Her arms lazily extended, always trying to show him that she wasn't entirely willing, which was a lie.

Sometimes she just thought it was better to hide how quickly and painfully this man could arouse her, despite the fact that she absolutely hated him and felt like she was betraying her brother each time _this_ happened, which was alarmingly often.

Izaya was busy half kissing, half biting her neck, leaving more obvious marks she wouldn't have been able to hide if it wasn't for the pullover he claimed to detest.

Her fingers were meanwhile gripping the back of his head, alternating between pulling at his dark hair and digging her nails into his scalp, always set out to damage and inflict pain.

They were both destructive by nature, and letting out their anger while bearing the brunt of the other's rage reminded them both of how fucking dangerous the other could be, if they so wished.

Again, she ground her knee against the front of his pants, hard enough to cause discomfort, but holding back as to not cause damage in such delicate places, and he moaned huskily from the pressure and the edge of pain mixed into the pleasure flaring up in his lower body.

Calloused but comfortably warm hands lifted her up slightly to be able to reach the clasp of her plain white bra, undoing it and throwing the garment as far away as possible, before lips closed around her right nipple and nipped in no way gently.

The secretary moaned and dragged her fingernails down his neck, leaving red scratches that didn't quite break the skin, but left welts that began to swell slightly.

This time, it was her hands that found the hem of his black shirt and tugged impatiently, and he briefly raised his upper body, crossing his arms and pulling off his shirt while balancing his weight on his knees.

She only got a glimpse of lean muscles flexing beneath milky skin, before he was back to biting his way down to her navel and experimentally sticking his tongue into the tiny hole, while his hand was opening the button and zipper of her skirt.

His fingers pressed against her underwear, indirectly stimulating her and making her buck her hips, a perverted grin making its way onto his slightly flushed face when he noticed the sticky dampness between her legs.

With quivering hands, she managed to unbuckle his belt, all the while trying not to get distracted as he kept rubbing her through her panties, creating bittersweet friction, while heat invaded her entire body, drawing suppressed little sounds from her mouth.

He didn't kiss her, although her swollen lips looked very inviting, and he also didn't bother to use his other hand to touch or fondle her in any way.

This wasn't about being affectionate. They both knew each other's weak spots well enough to be able to give the other pleasure they had never experienced before, but that would have required them giving a fuck about each other, which they didn't.

They fucked, because it made them feel good and because they could let out their frustrations and anger. It was dirty, messy and rough, and the more disgusted they were by what they had done afterward, the more satisfied they felt.

After fumbling with the zipper of his jeans for minutes without him noticing that she wanted them off, she summoned her strength and pushed him off of her, not caring that his back collided with the ground loudly, as she rolled on top of him.

For a moment, he looked at her in breathless confusion, but when her hands returned to the front of his pants and viciously yanked at them, he understood and helped her finally pull them off.

How he had been able to bear keeping them on for that long, she would never understand, but she was very happy to be able to grab the hardness poking against the front of his boxers, a sense of superiority flooding through her when he sucked in an almost shocked breath and pressed the back of his head against the ground.

Through the rough fabric of his underwear, she grabbed the warm flesh too tightly to possibly give him pleasure, but he groaned in satisfaction anyway, even when she pressed her hand down so that the head of his erection was grinding against his boxers, the red fabric turning darker, with his precum soaking into it.

When Namie finally pulled down his boxers, he was far too aroused to be offended by the fact that he was the first to be completely naked. His fingers twitched against the cold ground, before he grabbed her thighs and spread them forcefully, fingernails digging into her soft skin.

Izaya's grip tightened even more when she started to stroke him at a quick, rough pace that caused his eyes to close tightly and more precum to ooze out of his pitifully hard member.

She was distracted yet again, when his fingers moved up the inside of her thigh and beneath her skirt, pulling at her panties and stretching them until the lace on the side dug into her hip painfully and finally broke.

Scowling when he retrieved the destroyed pair of panties with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, she squeezed him tightly, a pained gasp reaching her ears, before she was suddenly flipped over again, the floor digging into her back and promising a few days of not being able to properly bend down without her spine protesting.

He hovered above her, showing off his dominant side and doing a good job at looking intimidating, while he took off her skirt, holding her legs still brutally, because she was still trying to kick him.

Now that they were both completely naked he wasted no time as he spread her legs and put them around his waist, bringing the tip of his erection to her opening and pushing into her roughly, giving her not a second to adjust to the intrusion.

It was painful and he didn't stop for even a second, even when she cried out in discomfort at the raw friction within her, because that's how they always did this and her pained gasps only caused him to slam into her faster.

They both knew that she would get used to it soon enough, and he saw no point in waiting and denying himself the pleasure of feeling her tight heat contract around him in defense.

Saying that the pain was replaced by immense pleasure would have been a lie, because she knew by now that reaching orgasm just from being penetrated was impossible. It aroused her nevertheless to be connected to her employer like this, because it was fucking disgusting and at the same time incredibly satisfying.

Each time he thrust into her, she dug her nails into his back and dragged them down, and she wasn't completely sure whether he was groaning in pleasure or in pain, and she didn't care either, concentrating only on her own arousal that increased with every second.

A loud cry erupted from her mouth when his fingers moved in between her legs and began to rub her quickly in time with his movement within her, and if this had been about pleasing each other, he would have licked his fingers before rubbing her clitoris, because this way his touch was going to leave bruises.

Their movements gained speed, their cries and grunts and moans getting louder, while their damp, salty skin pressed together, and it was disgusting to feel Izaya's sweat drip from his forehead onto her chest, but she couldn't bring herself to care even a second, as she held onto his shoulders, getting closer and closer to completion.

His hands, which were by now grabbing her hips and lifting them up to meet his at an angle that made moving more pleasurable for him, held her more tightly and his movements were no longer fluent thrusts, but uncoordinated bucks of his lower body, the muscles in his thighs twitching against the back of hers.

The fingers stroking her grew more insistent, moving at a harsher pace and ruthlessly putting pressure on the bright red bud that caused her to cry out.

He growled lowly, his voice bearing no resemblance to the clear, refreshing and slightly mean voice he used to talk, and then he pressed his head against the side of her neck insistently, biting down on soft skin to stifle the scream that left his lips, as he tensed up and came hard.

Feeling the informant reach climax within her and the insistent way his fingers kept rubbing her send her over the edge as well, tilting her head back, she yelled with her mouth open, until the pleasurable contractions of the muscles in her lower body finally ceased.

Breathlessly, they lay there for a few moments, limbs entangled so that neither of them could tell whose arms and legs belonged to whom, feeling far too warm, though they were both too lazy to move for now.

He pulled out of her, both of them hissing through clenched teeth, and slowly raised himself onto his arms and knees, leaning down and capturing her lips in a slow and lazy kiss, neither of them closing their eyes, so that they were staring at each other.

The kiss ended with her hitting him in the back of the head and sitting up, fumbling for her clothes, while he was already putting his boxers back on.

"You're paying for the morning-after pill." She requested, her angry voice mismatched with the bored look that was already returning to her still slightly flushed face.

He chuckled, still slightly out of breath, and reached into his pants, taking out his wallet and tossing far too many bills at her, as if he was paying a prostitute.

"Buy a new outfit while you're at it." Izaya scoffed, already standing up and putting his pants back on, before picking up his shirt.

She dressed in silence, wearing her skirt without her panties, since they had been destroyed, her face pulling into a grimace of disgust when she stood up and felt a mix of her own body fluid and his semen slide out of her and trickle down her thigh.

He was already back at his desk, still a little sweaty, his hair messier than usual, but calm and collected as he scribbled something onto a piece of paper, seeming completely oblivious to her presence.

"This has to be the last time." She said and he barely raised his head to look at her. It was something she had said many times.

"You're right." He nodded in agreement. "Until next time." His lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

She remained silent and didn't contradict him.

* * *

><p>I own nothing. English isn't my native language, so feel free to point out mistakes I might have made. Thanks for reading!<p> 


End file.
